


Chocolate Caliente

by Auredosa



Category: Faith (Airdorf Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hot Chocolate, No Plot/Plotless, Unhappy marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 08:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26849158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auredosa/pseuds/Auredosa
Summary: John always finds himself at Father Garcia's home, taking in more sugar and taking up more time than he ought to. He thinks so, at least.
Relationships: John Ward & Father Garcia
Kudos: 15





	Chocolate Caliente

**Author's Note:**

> No plot. No character development. I just wanted to write something for these two. I need to go to sleep now. Enjoy!

Visits to Father Garcia’s house did more for John’s mental health than anything those doctors did at Yale. The people at Yale brought John bitter tea because his caffeine intake was capped way too low for any amount of coffee. Rogelio gave him hot chocolate with a pair of sugary churros as if he couldn’t care less about John’s health.

He did, though, of course he did.

“Thank you, Father,” John said, perking up at the spicy aroma wafting out of the mug placed before him. He was being spoiled in the worst way possible: the kind where you’re treated to more than you ought to be. “Sorry that I keep dropping in like this. I’m working on things, I promise-“

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. You are always welcome in my home, _conejito.”_ Fast-paced: that’s what Garcia said it meant the first time John asked. “Now drink your hot chocolate. I can tell you need it.”

John took his mug and sipped cautiously; his Palmyra-palette still wasn’t acquainted with the rich flavors of Mexican cuisine. Everything about Father Garcia’s house was a drastic change of scenery for the better. John’s house was cold and dim, all beige walls and old blue curtains that reeked of cigarette smoke (which was his fault). Rogelio’s cottage was warm; the fireplace was always flickering, never roaring, and floral incense sticks lay in a glass jar on a corner table for prayer next to a statue of the Mother Mary. Here, he could let his guard down and put his tarnishing crucifix in his pocket. Here, John was safe.

“How is Karen?” He always asked, just to be nice.

“She’s taking it pretty well, I think,” John lied. They hadn’t slept in the same bed for weeks now. “Doesn’t ask questions. I think she understands, sort of.” She never would.

Garcia nodded. “Ah, that’s good. I worry about you two sometimes. The church can be so-how do you say this? About marriage. They are so . . .”

“Stingy?”

“Yes, yes, _improcedente,”_ sighed Garcia. “It makes no sense. You both deserve to be happy together.” John’s eyes sunk to the woven rug on the floor, shame crawling up his empty stomach.

“It the old system. They are so harsh with the young ones these days.” Rogelio muttered to no one in particular. He wondered if he was talking about he and his wife together.

“Father?”

“Yes, John?”

“Can we . . .” He did not want _anything_ of his failing marriage working its way into their friendship. This was one of the only things he had left.

“I don’t want to talk about my home life right now, if that’s alright with you.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Garcia smiled warmly and dropped the topic. “Just drink your cocoa. Sit for a little bit. A little quiet is nice, I think.”

“Thanks again, Father.” John took a sip of his hot chocolate and let the ground up chili burn the back of his throat.

There was a fire, but at least it wasn’t burning him alive.


End file.
